then folding the bottom before she returned.
“When?” I asked.
“The initials?”
I nodded.
“Before the formal.”
“And crossing them out?”
“The week after.”
I ran a finger over the black line through EM.
“I crossed yours out while packing my room.”
“Why?”
“I thought I was being realistic.”
Elise let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I thought I was respecting your decision.”
There it was, eight years reduced to marks a few inches apart. We had each believed the other person’s silence was clear. We had
